


Okay

by Sara_Ellison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara_Ellison/pseuds/Sara_Ellison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has taken care of his little brother his whole life.  Now it's Sam's turn to return the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Okay

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this story on my first watch-through of the series, but it took a second go to bring it to fruition.

The pain of giving up his near-perfect fantasy life was a hell the likes of which Dean hoped and prayed he'd never have to endure again. Sam, meaning well but entirely missing the point, reassured him that he'd done the right thing. He was needed here, in this reality. Dean knew that; it was, after all, why he'd driven the knife into his own chest. Sam just wouldn't let it go.

"You've looked after me my whole life," he said, in that earnest care-and-share way of his. "You've saved me so many times. I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you."

"But you are here," Dean argued, pointlessly, more than anything trying to just shut his brother up because if Sam kept on like this, Dean was likely to crumble. He sat on the edge of his bed wearing only boxers, his skin and hair still faintly damp from the shower that had scoured away the filth of that warehouse and the last traces of the djinn's touch.

He suppressed a shudder at the sense-memory of its chill blue grasp. To think he'd been foolish enough to believe it was actually granting wishes, that maybe it wasn't really evil. _I was such an idiot._

"Hey," Sam said, moving to sit next to Dean, and Dean realized he'd said that aloud. Sam slung an arm around Dean's shoulders. "You're not, okay? I mean, sometimes, sure, you can do some pretty dumb shit, but nothing that happened today qualifies you as an idiot. You're a hero. I don't know many people who'd be strong enough to make that choice."

Dean scoffed dismissively, as was expected of him. _All right, enough of the touchy-feely shit_ was his next line, but the words caught in his throat. It was comfortable in his brother's hold, so Dean relaxed against Sam's side and didn't say anything. When had his little brother grown so big, anyway?

After the silence stretched past comfortable, Sam seemed to realize Dean wasn't going to speak. He cleared his throat awkwardly and let his arm drop from Dean's shoulders. "Anyway, I'm really glad you did," he said, and began to stand up.

"Don't," Dean said before his brain kicked into gear. He blushed, embarrassed by how much of a pussy he was going to sound, how much of a pussy he felt like, but he didn't want Sam to leave, never mind that the other bed was three feet away. The emotional distance between them in that perfect little world had been unbearable, and distance between them right now was the last thing Dean could bear. "Could you...just..." He couldn't get the words out.

"Yeah," Sam said, a little choked-sounding, and wasn't that just like him. He put his arm back around Dean, and the other one as well, pulling his brother close so Dean's face nestled in the join of Sam's neck and shoulder. "Yeah. Of course. I got you, man."

Dean let his eyes fall shut, breathing deep. Sam smelled of...well, Sam. He smelled of a childhood spent always together, huddling together in salt circles or shielding each other against the dark while Dad snored in the next bed over, sawed-off shotgun under his pillow. For Dean's entire life, he'd taken care of Sammy. And here Sam was, _cuddling_ him like a girl. _I got you._

The collar of Sam's shirt was soft against Dean's jaw, but he found more comfort in the rasp of Sam's jawline and its day's worth of stubble, rough against Dean's cheek. Sam's hands were reassuring as well, warm on Dean's skin, one on the small of his back, the other gently but firmly gripping his shoulder.

Relief and comfort gave way to sleepiness. It was only when he began to relax that he realized how tightly he'd been grasping fistfuls of the back of Sam's shirt. He smoothed the cloth under his fingers as the exertion of the day caught up with him and he smothered a yawn against Sam's collarbone. "Should go to bed," he mumbled.

"You want me to...?" Sam asked, releasing his hold on Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said. He didn't know what exactly his brother was asking, but of _course_ the answer was yes.

"Okay," Sam said, standing. He bit his lip, watching Dean for a moment with an odd sort of expression before he began unbuttoning his shirt.

Dean stood as well, reaching for the top edge of the bedspread. He pulled the thing entirely off the bed, and tossed it onto Sam's. Beneath was a blanket, thin but warm, of the cheap hotel variety that was soft yet strangely rubbery to the touch. Dean tugged down the sheets and climbed under, scooting over to make room for his brother.

Sam had paused with his fingers on the last button. He glanced at the bedspread heaped on his bed, then back at Dean with a questioning look. "They never wash those," Dean told him.

Sam wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, paused, and said, "Oh. I thought..."

"What?"

He shook his head. "Never mind."

Dean frowned. "What, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged out of his shirt, unfastened his jeans and stepped out of them. "I thought you wanted me to sleep in the other bed," he muttered, turning away. Dean half-sat up, an objection on his lips, but Sam only hit the light switch and returned, sliding his long legs under the covers next to Dean.

A double bed was comfortable for one person and quite cozy for two. Sam was all broad shoulders and long limbs, and Dean was hardly petit, himself. Sam lay on his side, balanced on the very edge of the bed, shifting awkwardly and jerking away whenever some part of his body accidentally touched Dean, until Dean, exasperated, reached behind himself and grabbed Sam's arm and yanked so that Sam collapsed, sprawled half on top of his brother. The weight and warmth were comforting, and Dean kept his grip until he was sure Sam wasn't going to try to move away again.

When Dean awoke, it was still dark. He didn't know what time it was. The clock radio was glowing somewhere behind him, on the table between the two beds, but he was too comfortable to move, and rolling over to look at it would disturb Sam. His brother's arm was snug about Dean's waist, his breath heavy and slow with sleep, hot against the back of Dean's neck. Sam's body was pressed full-length to Dean's back, and Dean wondered if he should feel some sort of consternation at being the unmanly little spoon. What he felt instead was safe, peaceful and content in his brother's arms, and he also felt something else, unfamiliar but unmistakable pressed against his backside which was a totally normal part of a dude's sleep cycle and probably nothing to do with Dean's proximity, and Dean was going to hell because his own dick was stiffening in his boxers in response to his brother's erection, and he could hardly blame _that_ on his sleep cycle because he hadn't been hard when he woke up. He closed his eyes again and tried to will his inconvenient arousal away.

Something in the last few seconds, the change in Dean's breathing when he awoke or the tension in his body, must have subconsciously alerted Sam, because he murmured in his sleep, shifting subtly. His hand moved on Dean's belly, fingers stroking slightly, and some traitorous part of Dean's brain begged _Lower, please just a little lower._ Sam mouthed sleepily at the back of Dean's neck, too uncoordinated to be called a kiss, and his hips made little movements, grinding against Dean's ass.

Dean took hold of Sam's hand, covering it, slotting his fingers between Sam's. The gentle squeeze he gave it was meant to still it, but Sam seemed to take it as encouragement because his fingertips dipped beneath the waistband of Dean's boxers.

"Sam!" It was half a protest, half a gasp of _oh God so going to hell_ desire. Much as he wanted to let Sam continue on this trajectory unhindered, his conscience's objections were far too loud. Dean yanked his hand, and Sam's, up and away from Dean's treacherously hard dick. He rolled over to face his brother, pushing Sam's hand back towards him.

"Dean," his brother answered, looking at him with eyes half-lidded--with drowsiness, Dean told himself, though it looked a hell of a lot like desire, which had to be only because it was the middle of the night and things looked strange in the darkness.

Sam was awake, though. Sam was clearly awake, his breath still heavy but not quite as slow as it had been. Sam was awake, which rendered all questions of consent null and void and made it perfectly okay for Dean to duck his head forward and seal his mouth over his brother's, hot and hungry and desperate. Sam kissed back, lips parting under Dean's, tongue swiping into Dean's mouth. He swallowed the little noises Dean made as he pulled him close, his big hands once more spanning Dean's back, stroking along his spine, slipping down to caress the curve of his ass.

It was Sam who broke away, gasping for breath even as he pulled Dean against him, hips pressed flush, legs entangled. "Is this okay?"

Was it okay? Dean had given up a normal life, a beautiful woman who loved him, a mother who was alive and well and happy, for a world full of monsters and demons and Sam. Sam, who he'd always looked out for, always been there for. Sam, who was there for him, now, his beloved little brother taking care of him like Dean had always taken care of Sam. Sam, his brother whose cock was throbbing against Dean's, trapped between their bodies as Dean rocked his hips and gasped, "Yes, _fuck_ , yes, Sammy, this is _okay_."

Sam moaned and rutted against him. " _Dean_ ," he gasped, his fingers squeezing Dean's ass hard. His fingers found the waistband of Dean's boxers again and tugged, and this time Dean didn't stop him. He helped, pulling and shoving the hindering cloth out of the way, discarding Sam's underwear in the same fashion. The first touch of skin to skin, flesh against blood-swollen flesh was white-hot, blinding. Dean muffled his cry against Sam's neck, lips and teeth closing on a taut tendon.

He reached a between their bodies to wrap a hand around them both just as Sam did, and their fingers intertwined, sliding in slickness. Sam's thumb slipped over the head of his dick, spreading the precome that pooled from the slit. "God, Dean," Sam got out, as Dean moaned and squeezed them together, his hips stuttering against his brother's. They moved in tandem, fucking together into the tunnel of their hands. Dean's other hand was pressed to the small of Sam's back, holding him close.

Dean drew back, watching Sam's face. His brother's eyes burned with an intensity that was almost unsettling, though Dean was sure it was mirrored in his own expression. Sam's teeth caught his lower lip, biting back tiny sounds that emerged from his throat as their hands worked together. Suddenly those few inches between them were too much, and Dean sealed their mouths together in a desperate kiss, catching Sam's lip where he bit it and laving the indentations left by his teeth. Every incremental movement, every twist of their fingers or grind of their hips felt like turning a winch, pulling Dean tighter. His spine was a bowstring, pulling him taut, and every breath was a gasp against his brother's skin.

His eyes were wide, the tension through his body holding his eyelids open, locked with Sam's gaze until his eyes began to water and spilled over. Sam kissed the dampness from his face, soft brushes of his lips across Dean's cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, murmuring "I got you, Dean, I got you" between each kiss. His words were a promise, arms open to catch Dean if he fell, so he let himself fall, silent and shaking, spilling hot over their joined hands. Sam gasped "God, _Dean_ ," and came with him, shuddering against him.

Dean's underwear was tangled around his ankles, his legs tangled with Sam's. He left them there, content in the heat of his brother's body, warm skin against skin. His mind was pleasantly unfocused, release and sheer exhaustion conspiring to pull him firmly down into sleep once more.

Cold grey light next woke him, morning sun struggling through an overcast sky. _We forgot to close the curtains last night,_ was Dean's first thought. His second was an awareness of another warm body against his and a sticky mess on their stomachs. _Right, so that wasn't a really bizarre sort of dream..._

Green eyes met his, and Sam smiled. "Morning," he said softly. "I was going to go shower, but I wanted to wait until you woke up."

 _He didn't want me to wake up alone, and wonder..._ "Go," Dean said, grumpy-faced and grumpy-voiced, but he couldn't resist leaning in for a quick kiss, morning breath be damned. "You stink of sex," he complained.

Sam laughed, disentangling himself and sliding out of bed. "So do you," he pointed out. He paused at the door to the bathroom. "Well? Are you coming, or what?"

Afterwards Dean wondered if this was going to change them, a new routine, morning shower sex and kisses stolen on the way to the car. Could they still just be Sam and Dean, together, brothers and hunters, still just doing what they'd always done? In the car he thought briefly about reaching for Sam's zipper, but decided against it; he'd never forgive himself if he wrecked the Impala because he was distracted.

As it turned out, everything remained normal. Sam bickered with him about extra onions and pie. "I sure do love me some pie," Dean told his baby, just before her radio began to crackle and hiss. When he looked up, Sam was gone, and Dean's heart stopped in his chest.

Later when he held his brother's cold body in his arms and felt the life drain from him, it was the memory of Sam's warm body in his arms that drove him to do what he needed to do to bring him back.


End file.
